Blue Dresses in November
by Portia Adams
Summary: Mad Men's take on the JFK assassination had the characters reaching for those they needed the most. Who does Ken go to?


_A/N: Ken always manages to be around Allison during Sterling Cooper parties. She was the girl he chased around the office on Election Night, she was sitting in his lap at the party when the Brit lost his foot, and he asked her to the Sterling Cooper anniversary party. I thought she was his date to Margaret Sterling's wedding. Now I think she wasn't, but I still wanted my two favorite Mad Men tertiary characters to finally get together._

Allison stood at the corner of Madison Avenue. A girl who was quite honest when tallying up her personal pros and cons (nice skin, strange hips), one of the things that she always admired about herself was her ability to come up with a good plan in any situation. It was a definite help when working Don Draper's desk. The amount of unimaginable situations that cropped in any given week relied on that particular talent constantly.

Now, though, she was at a loss. She could walk a block up and catch a train. She could try to flag a cab; she was careful to always have enough extra money for cab fare tucked into her purse. The only thing she couldn't do for sure was walk home, it was just to far away. Listing her options didn't move her any closer to making a decision.

A hand touched her arm. Normally she'd have enough wits about her to be upset (she was a pretty-enough girl, this was New York), but today her carefully honed wits were lost. "The night Kennedy was elected you had on blue panties," the voice said.

She laughed, drawing a look of censure from a passing matron who was wiping tears off of her face. Cosgrove. Of course Cosgrove. "Today I have on a blue dress," she said by way of response. She remembered the election party. After far to many crème de menthes she and Ken ended up back in his office. Allison remembered kissing, good kissing, and then she remembered nothing. Since she woke up with her clothes intact she assumed Ken had passed out around the same time she had.

Ken had been at a loss as to what he should do. He tried calling some of his major clients, but the overloaded phone system prevented that. Finally he remembered Western Union and ordered a bunch of telegrams. The poor art department assistant was running them down to the telegraph office now. As he rode the elevator down he decided a bar, maybe, but that's not what he wanted exactly.

As he walked out of the building he saw her standing at the corner looking lost. In all the years he'd known her he'd seen her in lots of situations, but never looking lost. Allison was the one others went to when they were lost, especially since Joan left. It tugged on his heart in a new way. He liked Allison. He liked Allison best, he knew, best of all of them. She was smart, sensible, and funny. You could imagine reading the Sunday New York Times with her, he realized, arguing over books, drinking wine, eating Chinese. For three years, ever since that poor bastard Kennedy was elected, he'd been trying to get with Allison.

He was a little cursed, though. Whatever charms the powers that be at SterlingCoo thought he had with clients, he had some sort of opposite repellant charm with women. Especially with Allison. Maybe he had drooled on her or something the night of the election. Not a devout person, Ken sent up a little prayer hoping that wasn't the case.

"You also had on a blue dress that night." It had been such a hopeful night, Allison thought. Fun. Lighthearted. As one of the few people at Sterling Cooper who voted for Kennedy (a fact she kept wisely to herself) she had loved every moment of it.

"I love my apartment," Allison said as they stood on the street corner, at a loss for what the proper response should be in this situation.. "But I don't want to go there."

This is the kind of situation where everything normally went awry and he ended up with his Florsheim shoe planted firmly in his mouth. Caution was needed.

"I don't live far, and I have a good television. We could make toasted cheese sandwiches. My grandmother always said that everything was better with a toasted cheese sandwich."

Allison nodded. For three years she had watched Ken Cosgrove. He was smart, and handsome, and read books, and for all of his boorish behavior was usually a nice guy. She'd never told anyone, not even Joan (certainly not Joan), but Ken sent a rush of most insensible butterflies up her stomach at most inopportune times. "Your grandmother sounds like she was a smart woman."

His apartment was different from what she had expected. She would have expected Danish Modern, done in a boring yet tasteful way. Actually, she would have thought Ken's apartment would have looked like a display room at Bloomingdale's.

It was nice, and the sofa was definitely Danish Modern, but the apartment was charming. Bookshelves were everywhere, but still didn't provide enough room for all of his books. Antiques were mixed in with the new furniture.

"Your apartment?"

"Is it a mess? I'm so bad at realizing when I've made a mess." Ken looked around, hoping there were no moldy dishes or dirty socks lying around.

"No, I like it."

Soon they were on the sofa eating toasted cheese sandwiches. Hours later Ken picked up the phone again. Allison shifted, cursing the switch in fashion to straight skirts. One could sprawl with more comfort and a certain amount of ladylike charm far easier in a circle skirt. Shame she wasn't like Peggy and just didn't care about what sorts of skirts were fashionable. "Still no dial tone."

Allison frowned. She hadn't lived at home since she was a teenager, but she wanted to know her family was alright, although she knew that was foolish. Florida was a long way from Texas. Her family was fine. "I'd like to talk to my parents."

He hated to see her frown. "Western Union!" he exclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

"What?"

"We can go send our families telegrams. We can even send them paid response, so that they know to answer us back."

"Perfect!"

They weren't the only ones with the idea. "Maybe we could get some dessert when we're done here," Ken said as they stood in line.

A smart girl would go to Howard Johnson's, eat a piece of pie, and go home. She'd been a smart girl with Ken Cosgrove for three years. She was done being a smart girl, at least for today. And the last thing in the world she wanted was to be alone in her apartment. The world was going a little mad; maybe it was time to go a little a mad herself..

"My apartment isn't far, and I have a rather good cake," Allison offered. "Maybe you could have your response telegram sent to my place."

Ken nodded. It was all kinds of not right to mentally undress a girl as you watched coverage a dead president (a man you had secretly voted for). But he didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to be with the guys, he just wanted to be somewhere with Allison.

"I've never seen regular tv on this late," Ken said as Allison walked back into the room after changing into slacks and a sweater. Allison's apartment was tiny, sitting on the sofa he could see her bed in its tiny alcove. Other than shelves overflowing with books, tableware, and records the only other furniture was a sectional sofa and a low round table.

"It's a little crazy. Usually its just the late late show."

"No crazy zookeepers tonight," Ken said. "Do you remember when Roosevelt died?"

"A little bit. I was six. I remember my grandmother crying at the kitchen table. We always listened to his radio speeches, and I remember the next weekend asking why someone else was talking."

Ken nodded. "I was nine. It was the only time I ever saw my dad cry. My parents talked about him like he was part of the family, not just the president, you know?" He was quiet for a moment.

"Allison, Roger's daughter is getting married tomorrow."

"I know. I set you up with a date, remember? My friend Anne from college."

"Oh, do you think I should still go with her?"

She punched him. Helen Gurly Brown would be horrified, but what the hell. The man was an idiot. "Yes."

"But I'd rather go with you," he said, with an earnestness that made her remember her beloved Scottie Lilac. "You can't. Draper would murder you. And it's less than twenty-fours! You can't invite me and ditch Anne. Idiot.'

"What?" Ken wondered if Allison realized her leg was touching him, that they had spent the last eight hours together, and that it looked like they'd both be spending the night on her sofa.

"I don't want to be asked because it's days until some big event and you don't have a better date. It's why I turned you down every other time you've asked. That, and the whole Draper torpedoing your career and firing me cataclysm that would result."

"That's what you think? Allison…" his voice broke off. "I wait so long to ask because it takes forever for me to get the courage to ask you."

She stared at him and then laughed. "You idiot! I don't go around sitting in Paul's lap, do I?"

"But you turn me down! It's really because you of office nonsense?"

Allison nodded. Her hair was slipping from its pins. He pushed one lock of hair back behind her hair.

"And now?"

Allison broke another of her rules (Don't upset Draper, don't forget to pick up the dry cleaning on Thursday) and initiated a kiss. A kiss that started three years ago on election night. Later that night she pulled the blankets off of her bed and they each chose a side of the sofa. She was going to be with Ken Cosgrove (although she wasn't going to make that quite clear to Ken just yet), but not tonight. Tonight she wanted him terribly, but this was a day that deserved its own infamy. The way her parents talked about Pearl Harbor she knew she would talk about this day. The world just changed in some way she couldn't quite articulate, that all the newscasters had spent all night attempting to put into words.

"You should come with me back to my apartment," Ken said Friday morning as they finished off the strawberry cake from her refrigerator. "I have a better tv."

Somehow, and Allison had never quite remembered how, she had ended up sitting in his lap. His hand was currently under her sweater and it was slaughtering her ability to think rationally.

"Don't be silly. You have to get ready for the wedding."

"I was thinking maybe you could be there when I got back."

Allison thought for a moment. "I'm going to buy Anne a really nice lunch next week."

Ken smiled. "I'll pay."

Allison was on the sofa reading _O Ye Jigs and Julips _when Ken returned. He dropped down on the sofa next to her. "That was the worst wedding."

"The important thing is that you went. And not with me."

"Everything seems to be calming down. Nothing else has really happened, except for the expected."

Which is how she convinced herself that it was perfectly fine to sleep with Ken now. After all, the worst was over.

Saturday she helped herself to one of Ken's oxfords from his dirty shirt pile and brought a plate of scrambled eggs into the bedroom. "Do you have any tomatoes?" Allison started to ask when they saw Oswald go down.

They'd moved the television into the bedroom, an idea Ken had that Allison heartily approved of. "The world's gone mad," she said quietly. Ken toyed with a piece of her hair.

By Monday night Allison knew the world had changed in ways to numerous to count. She was in love with Ken Cosgrove (who was far better in bed than he had any right to be, thanks to his inexhaustible need to please), he seemed to love her, the president was dead, they saw a man shot, and she was happier than she had any right to be.

"Which of us is going to tell Draper?" Allison sighed as she thought about the real world that waited for them back on Madison Avenue.


End file.
